


Dancing on Your Blades

by SlytherinKilljoy



Series: Karushuu Week 2021 [3]
Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Angst, Gen, ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Karushuu Week 2021, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinKilljoy/pseuds/SlytherinKilljoy
Summary: “Nice jumps, Asano.” A voice says, behind him, “High technical points but you could use a bit more emotion, don’t you think?”Gakushu spins around to face a boy wearing sunglasses and a hoodie pulled up over his head.But those golden eyes give him away.Akabane Karma.(Written for Karushuu week day 3. Prompt: Ice Skating.
Relationships: Akabane Karma/Asano Gakushuu, Asano Gakuhou & Asano Gakushuu, Asano Gakushuu & Irina Jelavić, Asano Gakushuu & Isogai Yuuma
Series: Karushuu Week 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128542
Comments: 8
Kudos: 106





	Dancing on Your Blades

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is inspired by Yuri on Ice, so forgive me if there’s any misinformation. I wrote this entire thing today, I’m on a roll. It looks like I’m writing an entire fic a day this week and I’m actually enjoying it. So I hope you will too, even if it’s a bit more rushed than my usual work.

“Again.” 

Gakushu pants, his cold fingers digging into the rink floor. His chest heaves and his muscles scream with exhaustion.

He’s kneeling on the floor, with his father looking down on him cooly.

“Father—please. I can’t,” He forces out. 

His shoulders tremble, and his racing heart feels far too fast.

“You can’t? If you can’t learn this jump you’re going to lose. Get up.” The threat in his father’s voice scares Gakushu enough for him to comply.

Gakushu shakily gets to his feet, each movement feeling like torture.

He needs to do better. He has to win.

But it hurts.

“Again.”

So Gakushu digs his blade into the ice and starts off again.

* * *

All the children at the competition try to hide their disappointment as Gakushu takes the number one spot once again. He’s on the top of the podium, showing off his best smile.

His tight costume isn’t very comfortable, and the photographers manhandle him, pushing and prodding him into the right positions.

At last, he’s able to escape after shaking hands with several of his fans. But suddenly, he feels a hand on his shoulder that makes him flinch.

“Nice jumps, Asano.” A voice says behind him, “High technical points but you could use a bit more emotion, don’t you think?”

Gakushu spins around to face a boy wearing sunglasses and a hoodie pulled up over his head.

But those golden eyes give him away.

Akabane Karma.

Gakushu isn’t a fan. He’s really not. He’s Gakushu Asano, the number one junior Olympic skater. He doesn’t fanboy over other skaters.

But who hasn’t heard of Akabane Karma. He’s only five days older than Gakushu, but those 5 days were enough to put him in the age bracket a year above him. 

Akabane competes with the adults, and manages to keep even the most experienced professionals on their toes.

So Gakushu respects Akabane. But hearing critique on his skating still makes him annoyed.

“I think you could use a bit of work on your technical skills yourself, Akabane.” Gakushu smiles tightly, “No one really cares about emotion as long as you land your jumps perfectly.”

“That may be how it is in the Junior division, sure.” Akabane confesses, “But next season you’re playing with the big boys. You might end up finding that what you’re doing now, just isn’t enough.”

Gakushu bristles. 

“Or maybe, you’ll be the one finding that you’ve underestimated me. I always rise to the top. The next time we meet, I’ll be looking down on you from my spot on the podium.” Gakushu looks Akabane right in the eyes, the tension between them palpable.

“You’re on, Asano.” Akabane sticks his tongue out.

Gakushu just flips him off, before turning away.

Sure, that was immature, but give him a break. Gakushu’s 15, he’s allowed to be immature sometimes.

His first meeting with Akabane sticks in his head.

Gakushu know’s deep down that Akabane’s right. Gakushu’s performances lack emotion. He will never be able to skate the way Akabane skates.

Late at night, when Gakushu is burnt out from his father’s constant criticism and brutal training, he watches videos of Akabane skating.

It makes his heart race in a way he’s never felt before. Akabane’s skating is beautiful. His passion is visible in his every movement, intensity like no other.

He’s a bit sloppy on some turns, but somehow the artistic nature of his skating makes up for it.

Gakushu tries to incorporate more emotional expressions into his program, but the music feels too distant, and it just doesn’t work.

“Your performance has been lower than usual.” His father notes, “Care to explain why, or will I need to make you do more conditioning?”

Gakushu tenses. He already has so much conditioning, and his father always punishes him with more every time he slips up. He’s far too exhausted to add any more.

“I’m just not feeling this song.” Gakushu admits.

Something flashes across his father’s face, and the man steps closer.

“Since when do you think about feeling your songs? You don’t feel. That sentiment is a waste of time. You perform. You win.” His father stresses.

Usually Gakushu would keep his head down and drop it, but he feels a strange sense of rebellion building in his blood. 

He looks his father right in the eyes, passion visible in the brightness in his eyes.

“Figure Skating is a form of expression. Feelings aren’t a waste of time.” It’s too late when Gakushu realizes that his tone is just a tad too offensive, a little too confrontational. 

He feels the panic in his chest before he actually feels the blow.

He hits the ice with a loud screech, his skates scratching the ice and his head snapping to the side.

He’s suddenly aware of all the other people on the rink—there aren’t many, but enough training athletes who freeze, staring at him and the blood splattering across the ice.

“If that’s what you believe, then feel free to find a new coach. It seems my teachings are not agreeable with you.” His father says quietly, before stepping off the ice.

He doesn’t even bother to help Gakushu up.

Gakushu reaches for his aching cheek, and comes back with bloody fingers. He winces. His head spins, and he can’t breath—

Gakushu feels tears sting his eyes. What has he done. He was foolish.

So foolish.

Now his father won’t coach him anymore and without a coach Gakushu can’t compete—he’s only 15 what is he going to do—

“Hey, excuse me? You alright? Here, let me help you up.” A kind boy with headphones around his neck helps Gakushu off the floor, and hands him a bandaid for his cut cheek.

“I saw what happened with your father,” the boy starts, “I’m sorry about that. If you need somewhere to stay for the night you’re welcome to stay at my place.”

Gakushu shakes his head.

“No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you though. We haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Asano Gakushuu.”

The boy smiles, “I know. You’re kind of famous around here. I’m Isogai Yuuma. I work here at the rink. I also do compose music for skater’s programs.”

“That’s awesome,” Gakushu says, honestly, “If I had a coach, I would definitely ask you to help me with music. But at this point, I doubt I’m actually competing.”

Or if he even wants to. He sighs and looks down at his worn down skates.

“You don’t need a coach. You can come up with your own program and choreography.” Isogai suggests.

“I suppose I could. But I don’t know, Isogai. I just—“ Gakushu’s fingers dig into his knees, “—I’m tired of all of this.”

“Of course. If you need a break, definitely take one. I know you’re dealing with a lot right now.” Isogai says, looking right at him, “But if you do decide to skate, remember that the whole world is rooting for you. They call you the Ace of Japan for a reason.”

Gakushu spends several days trying to avoid skating, as his father ignores him, but in the end, the rink calls to him.

“You’re back, Asano. Made your decision?” Isogai grins at him.

Gakushu continues tying the laces of his skates, “Obviously. But I don’t know where to start on creating my own program.”

“Lucky for you, you have the music expert right here.” Isogai gestures to himself, “Come on, let's find you a great song.”

They go through several songs before Gakushu finally finds one that he likes.

He hesitates though, “It’s just—I don’t know if I can do this one. I’ve never skated to such an emotional song.”

“I find it helps if you make a story to it and try to express the story while you skate.” Isogai explains.

That finally makes everything click.

It’s simple, isn’t it? He has to tell a story. 

As the song plays, and the emotional lyrics wrap around his head, Gakushu suddenly remembers the boy who started all of this.

Ikeda.

Before his father coached Gakushu, he coached other students. One of them was an expert of expressive figure skating. He was beautiful out on the rink, he shone so bright.

But then he committed suicide.

And his father is determined to never let Gakushu become emotional and vulnerable ever again.

Gakushu jumps up.

“Isogai, can you google Ikeda Rikuto. I have an idea.”

Because after all, he doesn’t need to create his own routine.

He can do Ikeda’s.

* * *

It’s more difficult than his usual skating. He has to focus more on expression and exaggerate his movements more to the rhythm. It’s one of the last songs Ikeda danced to.

It’s sad.

Gakushu can do sad.

But the first time he skates the entire routine, it feels different from every routine he’s ever skated before.

His father isn’t watching him.

There’s no one judging him.

Just him, and Ikeda’s last dance.

He begins with his face tilted up, and jumps right into a leap.

He lands smoothly, and stretches his arms back—it hurts a little, he’s never had to push his flexibility this much—-

But it’s perfect.

He can feel the rhythm of the song in his bones as he moves, he remembers the pink eyes and fluffy hair of the boy who’s program he’s recreating.

He stumbles for a moment, pausing to wipe away a tear before composing himself again and carrying on.

He manages to convey the internal pain, the distress and loneliness with every trick and jump he lands.

He doesn’t notice he’s sobbing at the end of the performance until he strikes the last pose, his back arching down and his left hand dangling down while his right hand points to his heart.

He sinks to his knees, sniffling.

He never realized he missed Ikeda this much until he’s standing in his shoes, using his moves.

—————-

The next day, Gakushu wakes up to hundreds of notifications.

Someone posted a video of his routine. There were a couple other people at the rink that day, so he’s not surprised that someone recorded it. It’s happened before.

But this is the first time he went viral. 

He’s been decently popular on social media but never famous.

And today, he’s become famous for a day.

But before he can read through the comments, his bedroom door slams open.

Gakushu’s heart skips a beat.

“What was that?” His father says, his voice calm but the look in his eyes frightening.

Gakushu scrambles to his feet, “Father, I was just practicing. I didn’t mean for it to blow up—“

His father grabs him by the wrist, and Gakushu recoils.

“We’re going to talk about this. But first, there’s a woman at the door who wants to meet you.”

Gakushu feels a shiver go down his spine, but nods. His father lets him go, and Gakushu quickly gets dressed, wincing at the quickly forming bruise on his wrist. The cut on his cheek has already darkened and bruised, and both of them are such a hassle to cover up. Gakushu throws on a long sleeve sweater and heads down to meet the mysterious woman.

Gakushu gapes at her.

What is the number one in the woman’s olympics figure skating doing in his living room?

“Hey kid. What do you say I become your new coach,” says the one and only Irina Jelavic.

* * *

Jelavic is actually a pretty good coach once you get past her hotheadedness. When Gakushu’s father had seemed unwilling to let Gakushu go with her, she managed to blackmail him with the fact the entire internet was speculating the cause of Gakushu’s bruise.

“It was good it was documented on that video so we have proof.” Jelavic says, the look in her eyes softer than usual, “You aren’t going back to him for a while, if I have my way.”

Gakushu’s heart feels funny at that, and it’s almost like he’s about to cry, though he doesn’t know why.

“Why are you coaching me. You’re only 20. You have years of competing ahead of you.” Gakushu stares at his hands.

“I suppose.” Jelavic stares off into space, “It’s because I’ve been skating ever since I was 10. I never had a childhood. I never got to fall in love, or live, really. I want that. So I’m putting skating on a hold. You should think about it too, kid. I have no doubt you’ll get to the top one day. But what will you do then?”

That is something Gakushu has never considered. He’s always been pushed to be number one, to be the best.

But what do you do once you’re already the best? What then?

That’s the question Gakushu ponders as Jelavic starts to train him. She teaches him several different dance forms, helps him perfect his method of expression. She has a lot in common with Gakushu. They both play lots of instruments and both can speak many languages.

Gakushu gets to live in the apartment Jelavic is renting, and they head over to the rink every day to train.

Isogai is incredibly excited about the whole ordeal.

“Wow Asano! So much has changed. You’re internet famous, and you got Irina Jelavic to coach you. “

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to abandon you now that I’m famous. You’re probably my closest friend here,” Gakushu admits.

Isogai slings an arm around him.

“Thanks Asano. For what it’s worth, you are my closest friend too. I’m happy for you.”

“Call me Gakushu. Now, mind helping me choose my songs for this season? I’ve got my first competition in a month.”

“You got it, Gakushu. And call me Yuuma.” Yuuma grins at him, and Gakushu finally feels like things will be alright.

From there on, Gakushu takes the skating industry by storm.

He wins contest after contest, getting to the top of the podium every time.

But as he climbs up the totem pole, he finally makes it to the national championship, where he faces Akabane Karma.

“Well, well. Look who’s here. You actually listened to my advice.” Akabane notes.

A year ago, Gakushu might have snapped at him and gotten defensive.

But this year, with Jelavic and Isogai on his side, he’s started to let go of his desperate drive to win.

“It was good advice. Thank you for that. I hope this competition will be a good one.” Gakushu holds out his hand to his opponent.

Akabane stares at him for a moment, utterly bewildered.

“It’s a hand, genius. You know, you shake it? Good sportsmanship?” Gakushu smirks.

Akabane rolls his eyes, and finally takes his hand. His grip is warm, comforting in the cool environment of the ice rink.

Their eyes meet, and a spark of intensity passes through them again.

“See you on the podium.”

* * *

Gakushu panics.

Halfway through his routine, he stumbles, throwing himself off beat, and despite trying to continue, it only gets worse and worse. He hastily finishes, his pose sloppy and his breathing ragged.

He manages to rush off the ice, and the only thought in his head is that his father must be watching him fail right now.

He locks himself into a bathroom stall and cries.

“Come out of here, Asano. Results are posted. You came in third place. You still qualify for the Grand Prix. It’s alright.” Akabane’s voice comes through the door.

Gakushu’s breath is still uneven, and panic still clenches his chest.

“I fucked up. I fucked up bad.” Gakushu gasps out.

“You panicked. It’s alright. All of us have done it at some point. This is your first year in the Senior division. You’ve got a lot of pressure on you. No one’s judging you, okay.” Akabane tells him, his voice soothing.

Gakushu sucks in a breath.

“My father—“

“Isn’t here right now. And he never will be near you again if you don’t want it. I’ve heard the rumors on the internet you know. Everyone suspects it ever since they saw your bruise.”

Gakushu grits his teeth, and unlocks the door at last.

“You know nothing.” Gakushu snarls.

But Akabane doesn’t flinch.

“If you say so. Now come on, it’s time for us to get on the podium.” This time it’s Akabane to hold out his hand and it’s Gakushu who hesitates.

But Akabane waits patiently, meeting Gakushu’s eyes.

Gakushu takes his hand.

* * *

The after party is riotous, but Gakushu and Akabane sit alone in the corner. They’re the youngest out of all of the seniors, at only 15 years old.

“It sucks that they won’t let us drink alcohol.” Akabane growls.

Gakushu rolls his eyes, “We’re underage, genius. It’s illegal for them to let us.”

“Well, what else can we do to entertain ourselves. I’m bored.” Akabane whines.

Gakushu ponders for a moment, “Well, let’s go convince the DJ to play something better. This song sucks.”

“That sounds like a plan.” 

They soon find out that Akabane and him have similar song tastes. And they’re both ruthless at debating. The DJ finally gives into them and plays the song they requested, when it’s clear that neither of them are backing off.

“Dance with me?” Akabane asks, flirtatiously.

Gakushu’s heart pounds, and panic seizes his chest once again and he’s going to refuse—

But Jelavic hisses at him.

“Go on brat. Dance with him. I’m getting tired of you two staring at each other all over the punch bowl.” She whispers.

Gakushu turns pink, but gets up from his chair and takes Akabane’s hand.

Both of them are great at dancing, since they’re figure skaters and all, and Akabane’s hand around his waist is gentle. His eyes flash under the disco lights, colors illuminating his hair like spun copper.

But when Akabane leans in for a kiss, Gakushu flinches, pulling back.

It’s too much. He can’t do this.

Akabane looks hurt as he takes a step away from him.

“Oh. I guess...I read you wrong. I’m sorry,” Akabane apologizes awkwardly, but his eyes are watery—

No. Please no.

That night, Gakushu cries in his hotel room, wondering what's wrong with him.

Why does he sabotage everything good in his life?

* * *

Gakushu is standing in the middle of the ice rink, huge crowds surrounding him. The lights are blinding, but his eyes are searching for only one person.

Akabane.

His bright red head is easy to make out, and Gakushu makes sure to keep his eyes on Akabane’s 

Watch me.

“And performing in the final round of the Grand Prix, is our 15 year old Ace, Asano Gakushu! Skating to the song,  _ If you want love.” _

This is it. The moment he’s been working for all his life. 

The moment that changes it all.

He remembers the advice Jelavic-sensei gave him she found Gakushu crying alone after the party.

“ _ You and Akabane speak one language the best, and that is skating. This is your language. So show him. Show the whole world. This is your moment.” _

His costume is rainbow, covered in sequins.

Because what better way to come out to the entire world?

The moment the song starts, Gakushu takes a deep breath, pushes down his anxiety, and takes his starting position.

He feels the nervousness in his arms and chest, but Gakushu doesn’t bother relaxing it. 

He’s going to use his fears to strengthen this song.

Because it’s dark. This is the story of Gakushu Asano.

It’s about the broken hearts and the loss. The pain and the shame, the never ending search for approval.

And in the end, it’s about love. 

Gakushu becomes one with the song, each lyric clear as crystal in his head, his arms moving fluidly to the rhythm.

He begins to feel his legs ache with the intensity of the moment, as the song becomes more and more complicated, his jumps becoming even higher and grander.

He’s almost there. He’s almost made it—

He lands his final pose, the one he first learnt from Ikeda.

But this time, his eyes lock with golden ones.

And he doesn’t look away.

When the song ends, and Gakushu falls to the ice, shaking, he sees Karma step forward.

“You look beautiful.” Akabane says, surprisingly breathless when Gakushu approaches him, “I’m sure you’ll place first.”

Gakushu reaches out, taking Akabane’s warm fingers in his.

“I don’t care about placing first. Fuck the podium. This was all for you.”

Akabane is speechless, his eyes sparking with the same kind of emotion he had when they were dancing together.

But this time, Akabane doesn’t kiss him. 

(And Gakushu is secretly glad he didn’t. He’s still not ready—)

Akabane just pulls off his sweatshirt and offers it to Gakushu, who is still cold in just his costume.

Somehow, that moment is even more meaningful than a kiss ever could be.


End file.
